Where Dragons Fly
by Master of The Blood Wolves
Summary: The remnants of Eagle Company, an N7 Spec Ops unit end up in a strange land during the dying days of the Reaper War. With returning home looking impossible, Eagle Company find themselves pushed into a new conflict between a tyranny and a rebellion. Left with few options but to fight, the Eagles reluctantly ply their deadly craft...
1. Chapter 1

Where Dragons Fly

Chapter I

Sable Eagle-00: KIA

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or Mass Effect.**

**A\N: On an entirely different note: chalk up the first ME\IC crossover on this site!**

'Micky! Get that pylon up and running, we've got company, I want a sniper salute when it gets here!' Shouted Karl Drezani as he slid around the corner of a burned out shopfront.

The telltale roars of a pair of brutes followed him.

Sliding to a stop beside the damaged Mako his team were using as part of a makeshift barricade, Karl unslung his Raptor sniper rifle and dialled it to fire incendiary rounds, then deftly grabbed the thermal clip Micky's supply pylon had spat out and reloaded. Next to him, the geth infiltrator the team had formerly referred to as Alpha,-now known as Meta after having acquired the runtimes of a Prime that had been destroyed during a disagreement with a Harvester,- reloaded their Black Widow Anti-matériel rifle while Shira T'neiv swapped her Disciple shotgun for a heavily modded Mattock semi-automatic assault rifle, Xethos Harran unfolded an N7 Valkyrie and Rictus pulled a Phaeston.

'What are we lookin' at, Karl?' Asked Lieutenant Jacob Johnson, a Devastator Karl had known since they'd trained together in Rio de Janeiro as he primed his Hawk missile launcher and loaded his N7 Piranha.  
'They're coming in standard formation: little bastards up front, big ones in back, tall bitches all over the place and things with guns behind them.' Karl replied.

Calcon Dree, a Salarian Engineer who'd been seconded from the STG pulled his Saber assault rifle. Karl had once asked where he'd got it from, considering they were usually custom-made for Alliance soldiers. Calcon had made a roundabout, vague reply that it was a STG clone, and left it at that, much to Karl's annoyance. 'Shouldn't be too problematic.' He said encouragingly.  
'Kind of like full-contact target practice.' Djurint Krekka mused in his guttural bass as the big teal-crested krogan reloaded his Revenant LMG.

Further comments from the team's various members were cut short as a horde of cyborg undead came boiling over, around and through the wreckage of buildings that had been old before humans took to the stars and burned out air-cars. They'd been doing this for months now, so they all knew what to do:

Xethos used his biotics to lift a cluster of husks and Rictus sent a warp right into one of them, sparking a chain reaction of biotic explosions that took the rest out and served to floor other husks near the explosion along with stagger a banshee that had been a bit too close, while Krekka, focused on scything down foes with his machinegun.

While this was going on, Karl, Meta, Shira, Calcon and a Migrant Fleet Marine Corporal called Rella'Venn vas Norroh were having what was essentially a sniping contest: If a marauder or cannibal hunkered down to escape Krekka's bullet storm, one or more of them would kill it with a well placed shot or two.

Amidst the general mayhem, it was inevitable that a few Reaper soldiers would reach them. These died either at Karl's sword-blade or at those of the squad's resident Slayer: Lieutenant Jeffrey Drezani. Karl's younger brother.

'Shuttle's here. Get-' The shuttle pilot never finished his exclamation, because at that moment, a pair of ravagers that had crested a pile of rubble opened fire on the unfortunate Kodiak and shot it out of the air, killing the pilot on impact.

'There goes our ride!' Rictus shouted as he unloaded his Phaeston into a brute's neck, effectively decapitating it.  
'What do we do now?' Micky shouted as she hurled an arc grenade into a mob of cannibals like it had done her a personal insult.  
'We drag as many of these fuckers into hell with us as we can!' Roared Krekka as he slammed a fresh thermal clip into his Revenant

Jeffrey, who'd just finished pulling his sword out of a Banshee's spine looked over the squad at the edge of the collapsed road on the other side of the miniature chasm between them and the rest of the city. 'DUCK!' He shouted racing _towards _the oncoming Reaper horde,-

-but he was too late.

The Blackstar-wielding Marauder fired it's all-powerful heavy-weapon, sending what was virtually a naked singularity arcing into the middle of the team. When the photonic fallout cleared, the team,-formerly dubbed 'Sable Eagle-00,'-and the improvised barricade they'd made their final stand behind, were gone, leaving only scorch marks where once had been a team defying gods.

**Some of you might look at this and say 'Oh no, Master of the Blood Wolves is writing a curb-stomp.'**

**To which, my reply is: 'Well, I hope not.'**

**There's a lot of interesting quandaries to be explored in the concept of this and I'm open to suggestions for story ideas, so by all means fire away.**

**Also: while I got the inspiration for this story mainly through ME3's multiplayer aspect, the ME characters will not be stuck with just two guns and three powers, so they'll have more like the utility of the single-player characters but with a bit more flexibility.**

**Anyone who wants specifics about that: feel free to ask.**

**On another note, I'd like to thank Colonel-Mustard1990 for helping me thrash out names and loadouts.**

**And, as usual, please:**

**No One-liner reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

Revolt

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

**A\N: To save on a major headache, English and the common human language of Alagaësia are going to be the same. To do otherwise would mean much dicking around involving translators and a host of other miscellany.**

**To also cover my ass for being lazy, I've got a legitimate excuse to hide behind: However, due to the fact it is spoilerific, (As well as the fact a lot of people who've read Inheritance know all about the reason behind all those 'random occurrences' will probably guess my excuse anyway…) I'll keep it to myself until the appropriate point in the story.**

A trickle of cold water running down his throat caused Xethos to gag and sit bolt upright. His sudden return to consciousness also caused the human girl who'd been wringing a water soaked rag near his mouth to recoil in shock.

Immediately, Xethos's mind began taking in details: It was dark, with a waxing crescent moon in the sky as well as a cloud layer; There was rough rope bound around his wrists, meaning he'd been taken as a captive for reasons unknown; The girl was dressed in a dirty skirt with a torn hem and looked as if she'd been beaten recently, judging by the half-healed bruising on her tanned face and apprehensive expression;There were also rough, boisterous voices not too far distant, along with firelight; The ground was grassy and the air was clean, which, to Xethos bespoke that he was no longer near any of Earth's major cities.

Of course he wasn't. He should be dead. He'd glanced back behind the squad at Lieutenant Drezani's warning, and he'd seen the Blackstar launcher in the marauder's hands. Further speculation was dispelled however, by a tentative enquiry from the girl.

'Who-who are you?' She asked apprehensively. Her accent wasn't readily identifiable to Xethos, though that wasn't saying much. He could speak several major languages of several different species with varying degrees of fluency, but he wasn't as good at pinning down accents or other peculiarities of speech.  
'Xethos Harran.' He replied quietly. 'Where am I?' He asked.  
'What are you?' The girl asked, equally as quietly.  
'I am a drell; Now, answer my question.' He replied shortly.  
'You're nearly a week's ride south west of Leona Lake.' The girl replied.  
'And where, is that?' Xethos asked patiently.  
'In the heart of the Empire?' The girl tried.  
'Can you be a bit more general?' Xethos tried again.  
'You're in the land of Alagaësia.' The girl replied.

Xethos nodded distractedly as he combed his memory. He came up blank. Wherever he was, it wasn't a human world he was familiar with. Actually, the cut of the girl's dress was archaic and the cloth wasn't even to the same quality as a two-credit store in the lower wards of the Citadel. Filing the information away as a mystery, Xethos decided to move onto something more pressing.

'Why am I bound? And where are my weapons?' He asked, though he could still feel the weight of a pair of small switchblades hidden in the cuffs of his sleeves. 'You've been taken prisoner to be sold as a slave like me.' The girl answered with a distinct note of trepidation.

That certainly answered his question. It also gave him a few complementary goals: Retrieve his weapons and kill the slavers. And escape, but that would more than likely end up being 'walk away from a pile of dead bodies.'

He was on the verge of activating his biotics when he saw a figure detach itself from the group of men by the fire.

Though he had had his eyes treated to be able to see the full range of bioluminescence that the hanar used to communicate, which meant his night vision was also better than average, Xethos wasn't able to make out much detail beyond some obvious observations: The figure was bulky and was carrying a spear. As he drew closer, Xethos was able to make out more detail: He was wearing a dirty scale mail hauberk, was unkempt and smiling lecherously, showcasing a gap-toothed grin, with several more teeth going rotten.

'Talkin' with ya new friend, ya little tramp?' Drawled the man. The girl shrank back, and as the man loomed closer, Xethos spied his Raptor sniper rifle hooked to the man's belt. 'You 'n' I are gonna have some fun tonight, and ya gonna cooperate this time or you'll regret it.' The slaver threatened dangerously, dragging the girl to her feet. 'As fer you, ugly, the boss wants to know-hyugh!' The man broke off in a strangled gasp as one of Xethos's switchblades embedded itself in his larynx.

Xethos nimbly rose to his feet and used the other switchblade to cut the man's throat, before soundlessly lowering him to the ground and cutting his bonds, then appropriating his Raptor and unfolding it to its full size.

'Wha-?' The girl gasped, but a slashing gesture from Xethos silenced her. He raised the sniper rifle to his shoulder as he kneeled down, the enhanced scope allowing him to pick out the remaining fourteen slavers, the majority of whom were drinking and boisterously carousing, many of them were looking at each other across a campfire.

A dangerous smile played across his lips as he saw his Valkyrie assault rifle next to one slaver. He now had a plan.

'Stay here, keep low.' Xethos ordered, before edging away into the gloom.

* * *

A few minutes of quiet manoeuvring later saw him in a small dip in the land with a view of the slaver's camp.

He aimed down the scope and lined up the sentry with the ease of long practice.

The report shattered the night quiet and the explosion of blood and brain from the sentry's head had the slavers scrambling for their weapons, but before they'd got too far, the one who'd taken Xethos's Valkyrie also fell to a headshot.

Phase One: Complete; time for Phase Two.

Calling on his biotics, Xethos hurled a warp at the campfire.

Though it was of nowhere near the same potency as the thermite gel in most incendiary weapons, the campfire had a ready supply of easily crumbled, flammable fuel that was currently burning at several hundred degrees. When the warp field struck the campfire, it shredded the coals of the fire into fine, burning dust and the rapidly shifting field both dispersed the burning particles and caused the fire to flare from the rapid influx of oxygen. The result was an explosion with the approximate power of a grenade, causing superficial burns and more importantly, blinding the slavers with the sudden change in light levels.

Rising from his hiding place, Xethos started towards the slavers picking them off with precise, deadly sniper fire, before shouldering the sniper rifle and putting a pull field into a cluster of three slavers who'd blundered into one another, before hitting them with a reave field. The resultant biotic explosion tore the slavers apart, and floored another two, who quickly found their windpipes crushed by Xethos's boot heel.

This left five more, and Xethos had just retrieved his Valkyrie and M-11 Suppressor.

Firing an assault rifle with any accuracy one-handed was a difficult feat, particularly when trying to hit a separate target with a second gun, but improvisation was what the situation called for and Xethos was nothing if not adaptable. He snap fired both weapons at separate slavers, before dropping the Valkyrie in favour of getting in close to another slaver and breaking his neck with a sharp twist of his head. His comrade, who was standing only a metre distant heard the crack, but caught a spinning kick to the face, followed by a neck-stamp to the windpipe when he turned to investigate.

'Found you!' Roared a slaver, which Xethos briefly recognised as the slaver he'd fired his pistol on, before he caught a buckler rim in the abdomen. He doubled over and sank to one knee as his breath was knocked out of him, before he sucked in a quick gulp of air and extended his arm upwards, wrapped in biotic energy. He caught the expected descending weapon in his palm, before effortlessly pushing it away, then slammed the sphere of biotic energy into the slaver's chest, the impact of the mass increasing field caving it in as effectively as if he'd been punched by an Atlas mech and sending the man flying.

This left two more slavers: The first, Xethos saw heading his way and sent a warp field at him, before, sidestepping a charging man with a spear, before elbowing him in the chest, causing him to stagger back, before punching him once in the face, before delivering an uppercut under his chin then driving his elbow into the man's exposed windpipe.

As he retrieved his weapons, the rustling of the grass alerted him to the presence of another.

When he turned around, the girl was standing there.

'You…killed them…' She said her eyes round with fear and awe.  
'Would you have let them live?' Xethos questioned as he located a bucket and a water skin.  
'We could've just slipped away.' The girl pointed out.  
'And they would've been on us before we'd made it a hundred metres.' Xethos replied as he ejected the partially spent heat sinks into the water in a cloud of steam before reloading his weapons. 'Besides, since when was there a 'we'?' He asked.  
'I know the towns here and you don't and you can fight. We can help each other.' The girl replied uncertainly.

Xethos pondered her statement for a moment. He needed information and while the girl probably knew very little she still knew more than he did.

'Makes sense.' Xethos replied. 'So, where do we head for?' He asked.

In the faint light, the girl looked taken off guard by Xethos's sudden reversal, but to her credit she answered quickly.

'There's a village a few hours' walk from here, that would be the best place to go for now, after that…' The girl shrugged.  
'We shall see.' Xethos completed briefly. 'Let us be off then.' He said immediately afterward.

The girl looked as if she wanted to protest, but merely shrugged and fell into step beside Xethos and tugged him in a different direction to the one he'd started in.

'It's this way.' She said. 'And how're we meant to see anything in the dark?' She asked.  
'I can see fine, hold my hand if you fear losing your way, but your eyes should adjust to the darkness shortly.' He replied. They were silent for a while, Xethos struggling with his curiosity. Finally submitting to it, he voiced the question that had been plaguing him.  
'What is your name?' He asked.  
'Adrian Swiftdotyr.' She replied briefly and rather uncertainly. 'How did you wind up here?' She asked. 'And what did you do back there? And what are those things the slavers took from you?'  
'It's a long story.' Xethos replied. 'One I'm not certain I should share at present.' He added.  
'Why not?' Adrian asked.  
'You wouldn't believe me, for a start.' Xethos answered with a chuckle.

* * *

Oh, god.

He hadn't felt this bad since the day after gaining his N7 designation.

With an effort, Lieutenant Jacob Johnson sat up and opened his eyes. What he beheld was a slew of error reports from his T5-V battle suit, forcing him to initiate a hard reboot of all systems to clear. When that was complete several minutes later, Johnson scanned his surroundings and came up with zip hostiles. Plenty of wildlife though: deer, rabbits, foxes, assorted birds.

_When the fuck did I get deployed into the Forest of Dean?_ He asked himself. Then he remembered the Blackstar. _So, this is heaven, huh?_ He thought. _Well, where's the bar then?_

Switching his optics to thermal revealed a large cluster of warmish structures not half a kilometre east of his position. He stood, picked up his Piranha shotgun and Phalanx pistol, then began forging his way out of the thicket he'd appeared in, stepping out onto a dirt track, which was more like a rarely-used road.

Judging by the horseshoe prints and lack of roadside litter, he was in the low-tech part of heaven. With a shrug, Johnson popped his visor and folded it back away from his head, letting the sun shine onto his buzz-cut black hair and dark skin. Probably shouldn't spook the locals _too much._

* * *

A solid ten minutes walking down the side of the road and saw the settlement.

It really wasn't much to look at: Wooden buildings, set out in ordered rows, radiating out from a central square with the road cutting through it like an arrow, the sort of idyllic little town one would expect in the opening stages of an epic fantasy RPG.

That was where the similarity ended however, because currently the town's populace were being put into a chain gang.

Johnson resealed his helmet, expecting trouble, and the enhanced optics showed him he was only partially correct: The young and old were being shoved to the side, while most everyone else, including a fair proportion of the women,-who looked like they had absolutely no business being in a chain gang,-were being added to the line. The ones doing the chaining,-men dressed in chain mail and plate armour, with a red surcoat emblazoned with a twisting gold flame,-were definitely soldiers, and judging by the weapons, they probably didn't know what gunpowder was.

One of them spied, him, and motioned to a pair of his comrades, who made their way towards Johnson, meeting him just at the entrance to the town.

'Stop right there.' Said the de facto leader with self-important authority, though Johnson chose to comply, popping his visor into the bargain.  
'What can I do for you, son?' Johnson questioned in an affected drawl.  
'You can come along quietly and get in line with the others. You're hereby conscripted into the service of His Majesty, Galbatorix to meet the growing rebel threat.' Replied the soldier.  
'And I take it the ladies are conscripted as well?' Johnson asked.  
'There are many ways to serve His armies.' Stated the soldier, with dignity.  
'Is that so?' Johnson asked dangerously, pulling out his Piranha, pumping the weapon to cycle the drum. 'How about this: you let these folks go, you go fight your little war yourselves, and get the fuck out of my sight before I turn you all into mince meat.'

To his credit, the soldier didn't budge, but instead gave the order: 'Sieze him.'

That was when he died.

The Piranha shotgun was not a subtle weapon: It was designed to be a fast-firing crowd-control weapon. Johnson fired, and the first soldier's head simply ceased to exist, turning into a chunky red mist, and the soldier's two comrades didn't last much longer before they to fell in the dirt with meaty slaps.

The commotion had attracted the attention of the rest of the soldiers, a couple of whom were mounted.

'Alright, let's try that again,' Johnson said loudly, engaging his visor once again. 'You can either let the townsfolk go and leave peacefully, or we can do this the hard way. Here's a hint: The hard way isn't much fun.' The other twelve soldiers charged, drawing weapons as they came.

Johnson selected the two mounted soldiers and warmed up his hawk missile launcher and fired a hydra missile, the two rockets slamming into the designated targets and blowing them apart in twin explosions of gore, leaving them intact from the waist down and spooking the horses into a frenzy, sending them running as they tried to escape the smell of death and the sting of shrapnel wounds.

The other ten men were still coming, but they were nothing but sitting targets for Johnson: He emptied the Piranha, dropping another three, before switching to his sidearm, a Phalanx pistol and using it to drop the remaining seven.

He popped his visor again, acutely aware of the town's populace staring at him and the bloody ruin he'd made of the soldiers. In less than two minutes.

'I hope I didn't scare y'all none.' Johnson called walking up. 'Saw this town, figured I'd call in for a drink and hear the news. Sorry 'bout the mess.'

**I'll post more next week.**

**Remember to review.**

**No One-liners, thanks.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Twenty Questions

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

Lieutenant Jeffrey Drezani hadn't the slightest clue why he was alive, but it appeared most of Sable Eagle-00 had also made it: When he'd come around, Jeffrey had to biotically lift Krekka's unconscious body off of himself, and Calcon Dree, Shira and Rictus had already been climbing to their feet. The only other ones who'd been out cold were Micky and Krekka. Out of an eleven-man squad, only six of them were present, but Jeffrey reasoned the others were still alive. They were just MIA.

The next thing he'd noticed was the thicket of pikes surrounding them. He very obviously clasped his fingers behind his head, noting with relief that the others had followed his lead.

'Can we speak to whoever is in charge?' He'd asked clearly and calmly.

A stir of surprise and a wave of mutterings in strangely accented but easily recognisable English had spread through the pikemen and a runner had been sent dashing off.

In the wary silence that followed, Jeffrey had assessed the local terrain: Parched grassland, with a giant plume of orange-brown smoke rising on the north-west horizon. Beyond the pikemen was a forest of grey tents and openly curious spectators, who were gawking at Jeffrey and his comrades.

Judging by their clothing, the Blackstar had sent them back in time.

Or, at least, that was his analysis until he picked out a small group of rather short individuals with thick, braided beards and wearing rather distinctly crafted weapons and speaking in a language that Jeffrey didn't recognise. _Dwarves? Great. That means I'll shortly be meeting the Lord of Dale or someone like and we get to schlep across Middle Earth. Swell._ Jeffrey thought.

His musings were quickly dispelled however, when an ebony skinned young woman wearing chain mail armour and riding a charger had ridden up with six guards in tow and a woman who made Shira look positively plain jogging alongside.

The young woman had regarded Jeffrey with open curiosity and wary suspicion.

'You're in charge around here?' He'd asked incredulously.

The girl bristled, but her reply had been civil: 'I am. What brings you here? And what reason have you to make a scene like the one you've caused?' She'd asked.  
'Tell you what: call off your pikemen, let's go discuss this somewhere less public and we'll play twenty questions all you want. Sound good to you?'

* * *

That had been ten minutes previously.

Now, Krekka and Micky were laid out in the shade, Jeffrey had removed his helmet and the girl was trying not to stare at Shira, Calcon or Rictus, with limited success.

Jeffrey cleared his throat to draw the girl's attention. 'I'm pretty sure we both know how this works: I've got questions and so have you. Shoot.' Jeffrey said, leaning back in his seat.

The girl considered for a moment. 'Who are you?' She asked.  
'Lieutenant Jeffrey Drezani, Alliance Marines, N7 Special Operations.' Jeffrey replied.  
'I've never heard of this 'Alliance.'' The girl stated.  
'There's a reason for that, but now it's my turn,' Jeffrey replied. 'Where are we?'  
'Near the north-western border of Surda, not far from the burning plains.'  
'Can you be a bit more general? Name of this continent? Name of this planet, maybe?' Jeffrey asked.  
The girl's eyes narrowed, but she answered anyway: 'The name of this land is Alagaësia.' She said.

Jeffrey sighed in resignation. 'Nowhere I've ever heard of.' He muttered darkly.

The only one who looked even remotely happy with the development was Calcon, who was obviously thinking hard.

'Do your companions speak?' The girl asked tentatively.  
'Yeah, we talk.' Rictus said, then added dryly, 'just depends on whether we're being spoken to or not.'  
'Who're you?' Jeffrey asked, drawing the girl's attention back to him and off of Rictus's buzzing accent.  
'I am Nasuada, leader of the Varden. What brings you here?'  
'We had a little misunderstanding with an incredibly powerful weapon known for being able to turn fortified strong points into scorched craters. Your guess as to why we're here instead of dead is as good as ours.' Shira replied. Her English was a lot more fluent than Rictus's, who.-though he knew the language,-still preferred to use a translator.

'What were you fighting?'

Up until now, Jeffrey had steadfastly remained focused on the dark-skinned girl sitting opposite him in a throne-like seat, using all his military discipline to not stare at the woman who'd just spoke: She was tall, with a slim figure, long raven hair, an almost sculpted face with angled features, deep green eyes and a golden complexion. And attenuated ears. She was an honest-to-god elf and she had the sort of allure to her that Jeffrey would've previously only attributed to the Greek goddess Aphrodite. How Shira,-being _only_ a hundred and nine years old,-had managed to keep herself from doing something potentially life-threatening was something Jeffrey was inclined to wonder about but was immensely grateful for.

'We were fighting an incredibly ancient race of sentient machines hell-bent on exterminating all life as part of some demented 'Cycle' they've been propagating for the past god-alone-knows however many millions of years.' Jeffrey replied tiredly. 'So, what's going on around here?'

The she-elf gave Jeffrey a measuring look, then gestured for him to stand.

He complied, though warily, and kept his hand close to his Phalanx pistol.

'What's this about?' He asked, cautiously. 'What're you going to do?' He added as the she-elf approached him with an unreadable expression.  
'I am going to look through your memories to ascertain whether or not you're lying to us.' The elf replied in a tone of cool, no-nonsense calm.

'If I may, I believe I might be better suited for this.' Shira said, standing. Jeffrey turned and addressed Shira.  
'I think, to keep things simple, I'd better do this,' he said. He turned to Nasuada.  
'I take it that reading minds of strangers is a common practice around here?' His voice held a note of scepticism and from the corner of his eye, he saw Rictus shift slightly, as if he wanted to say something but didn't want to interrupt the delicate negotiating game Jeffrey was playing.

Or, he was elbowing Calcon to keep the salarian from saying something before his common-sense kicked in.

'Only for those we're not too sure we can trust.' Nasuada replied briefly.

'Enough. Prepare yourself.' The elf said, and at Jeffrey's nod she entered his mind.

The first thing Jeffrey noticed was an oppressive feeling behind his eyes, then he started experiencing flashbacks: the destruction of the _Eater of Corpses_, various raids and rear-guard actions. Defending the Citadel from Cerberus. Assaulting Cerberus command. The forlorn hope that was the all-or-nothing assault on Reaper-occupied London. The faces of the members of Sable Eagle-00. The faces of Eagle Company, living or dead. It was a disconcerting, thoroughly unpleasant experience that Jeffrey endured for three seconds before his instincts kicked in, in the form of a biotic throw.

The attack hit the elf in the chest and took her completely by surprise, sending her hurtling backwards and hitting the back wall of pavilion, before it was torn from its moorings and the elf went sailing another twenty feet before she fetched up on her back. At the commotion, Nasuada's guards boiled in and levelled their weapons at Jeffrey who was still wrapped in a biotic aura. The guards in turn found themselves looking down the barrels of the various side-arms Calcon, Rictus and Shira had on them.

'Stand down.' Jeffrey ordered as the elf picked herself up and warily made her way back to the tent, this time with a sword in hand. 'Apologies. Reflex.' He said briefly as she came within arms' reach.  
'You do that whenever someone startles you?' The elf asked in an even, polite voice that made the question sound like a death-threat.  
'Only when I'm fairly sure my health is at risk. Find anything suspicious?' Jeffrey asked pleasantly. 'Aside from, you know, everything you can't make sense of.'

'…Nothing that warrants suspicion…' The elf admitted. 'At least…I can't see how the king could've created fake memories like that.'  
'I've got the scars to prove everything you saw.' Jeffrey stated. 'If you want to see them, that can be arranged.' The elf's eyes narrowed at the implied innuendo. 'They can be trusted. Stay your weapons.' The elf said to the guards, who withdrew wordlessly, though a few of them lingered, too busy staring with open interest at Shira.

When they finally left, the elf gestured for Jeffrey to sit. He complied and when they were all seated again, the elf started talking:

She spoke at great length, reciting the rise of a tyrant a hundred years earlier,-how he'd betrayed an order of dragon riders,-_as if this wasn't fucking ridiculous enough,_ Jeffrey thought,-and how he'd usurped the throne of the human kingdom and the formation of a rebellion called 'The Varden' and how after eighty years of patiently waiting for the tyrant Galbatorix's posse of henchmen to kill themselves and quietly murdering them when an opportunity presented itself before they'd managed to steal one of the last remaining dragon eggs twenty years previously.

Then the elf brought them up to speed on more recent events: The egg had hatched to a farm boy, who'd then been forced to flee his home and go traipsing across the empire on a quest of revenge, which turned into running for his life to the Varden when things went south, how this farm boy had managed to kill Galbatorix's right hand man and turn the tide of an assault on the Varden's former hideaway and how Nasuada had figured they weren't going to get a better opportunity to kick the king off his misbegotten throne than this,-only the king was planning on invading the Varden's ally and the empire's smaller neighbour Surda, who's northern border they were just within and where a massive army of imperial conscripts planned to invade as the start of an attempt to subjugate the small country.

'Sounds like you're standing in your grave. A hundred thousand versus a handful of rebels are only good odds if you're backing the empire.' Rictus observed when the elf finished.  
'Then you made a fatal mistake coming here if you back them.' The elf observed.  
'Not saying I'm backing anyone.' Rictus replied, leaning forward.  
'We really haven't got much choice on who we back.' Calcon asserted.  
'Oh? Do tell.' Jeffrey said. Personally, he'd had enough of hopeless war to last him a lifetime.

'We've landed in the middle of the rebel camp, if we were to encounter imperials from hereon and employed the same telepathic screening you underwent just now, lieutenant, they would know we've spoken with senior rebel leaders and would likely put us to death. If the rebels fall, it is reasonable to assume we won't be able to find safe haven anywhere. Thus if we want a secure safe haven we have to ensure the rebels don't fall.' Calcon summarised in typical salarian rapid-fire fashion.

'So, we've got to go and jump into a war that has absolutely nothing to do with us, do we?' Jeffrey asked rhetorically. 'When we could probably solve this problem with one well placed bullet? Get real, Dree.'  
'So you'd walk away from a group of freedom fighters who're trying to stop a genocidal megalomaniac?' Shira questioned, 'I thought you N7s were _meant _to put people like that in their graves.  
'As leader of the Varden, I'll offer you shelter if you will aid us.' Nasuada interrupted, earning a bark of mocking laughter from Jeffrey.  
'That's a good one!' He said, 'Considering we're some of the most deadly soldiers you're ever likely to see, I can assure you we don't need protection. You've already given us information. What we need right now is to figure out where the hell the rest of our unit is.'  
'There're more of you?' The elf questioned.  
'There are eleven of us in total,-at least, elven of us alive last time I checked,-and five of us are missing. They could be absolutely anywhere and we're wasting time negotiating here.' Jeffrey replied.

A small, knowing smile appeared on the elf's face.

'What if we could locate your missing comrades?' She asked.  
'Then we might stick with you until we find them, after that it's out of my hands. If the captain reckons sticking with you is the best course of action.' Jeffrey replied wearily. 'But if that's how it's going to be, I'm not answering to just anyone, Nasuada. Any one of us has probably got more combat experience than any ten of your soldiers and we're a helluva lot better trained.'  
'Is that so?' There was a hard edge to the young woman's voice and Jeffrey briefly wondered whether it was a wise idea to try her.  
'We've fought wars that make this little uprising of yours look minor, hell, we could probably take your army to pieces,-just us four,-under the right circumstances.' Rictus stated plainly.  
'What they mean is, we're willing to fight with you, but we won't fight for you.' Shira said quickly and Jeffrey felt a rush of gratitude towards the Asari maiden as Nasuada's increasingly militant gaze softened.  
'That's acceptable.' She replied. 'You said there was a group of eleven of you,' she said, 'who are you then?'

Jeffrey smiled at the question. 'Each of us has our own name and history, out of the eleven of us left alive to my certain knowledge, only four of us are human, I'll let Calcon or Shira fill you in on all the details on that side of things later, but we come from a lot of different backgrounds and cultures. We were thrown together by the tides of a massive, brutal war for survival against a relentless, nigh unstoppable foe and over the past six months we've become a team. We were Eagle Compenay. Now, we're Sable Eagle-00 and pity the unlucky bastards in our sights because they're probably not going to be alive much longer.' He replied.

**One update as promised.**

**I'm not sure how I could've ended that better, but whatever. Thanks to Raex, all the Anons, ReaperScion, ZanonDalf1992, DinglexBarry and edboy4926 for reviewing.**

**Thanks also to everyone else who faved and followed.**

**On another note, I've also recently started a DA account under the name The13Inquisitor.**

**I don't have a lot of stuff on there, but I'd appreciate anything anyone has to say there.**

**Anyway, Another update next week after that, hopefully there'll be another one, but that's a little dicey.**

**'Til Next time.**

**Please review and offer critique!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

We're Not In London Anymore…

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

…_Rebooting…Reboot complete;_

_Processor1 Runexecutable: Environmentanalysis; _

_Processor2 Runexecutable: Threatassess;_

_Activate: componentoptics;_

Meta's optics crackled and were momentarily rimed with snow as they reengaged. The collective intelligence of the platform were understandably perplexed: The platform they were currently occupying had taken a near direct hit from a Reaper Blackstar cannon. There were no documented cases of any target ever surviving such a close encounter with one.

_Processor1 Runexecutable: Systemdiagnosticfull;_

_Systemoperationcapacity=98%;_

_Damagereport=comestic damage(cause=grazing shots(repair=lowpriority));_

Standing, Meta took in their surroundings: A grassy plain in the foothills of stratosphere-rending mountains to the south and continuing to the east, with what appeared to be a lake on the other side of a forest just west of their current position; planet unknown, time-period uncertain.

_Processor1 Runexecutable: chromatogram;_

_Chromatogramreport=Planet:Earth(Subcategory(Projected(Pre-Industrial Revolution)));_

_Logiccentres Runexecutable: find(objective);_

_Objective=Regroup with Squad Sable Eagle-00._

This confused the collective momentarily.

_Processor 2 Runexecutable Activesignalsensors: recievingdata…10 transponders detected. Closest proximity: 2, 20 kilometres west; Karl Drezani, Captain, Creator Rella'Venn vas Norroh, Corporal._

With this, Meta began moving towards the nearest two of their team mates.

_Processor 1 Runexecutable: Huntermode=standby._

If there was trouble, Meta would be ready for it, as evidenced by the plasma shotgun in their hands.

* * *

Karl shifted slightly as his subconscious registered that he was still alive. His body throbbed like he'd been trampled as he struggled towards wakefulness.

'Captain Drezani?'

Karl jerked awake fully, yanking his Carnifex from where it was maglocked to his right thigh.

'Rella?' He asked in surprise as he spotted the Quarian infiltrator sitting not far from him; judging by the way she sagged, she felt roughly as bad as he did.

A quick diagnostic revealed the atmosphere was breathable. Once he'd confirmed that, Karl popped the seals on his helmet and pushed the dark brown hair plastered to his brow back as he breathed the fresh air.

'Where the hell are we?' He asked.  
'Don't know, but we should be dead.' Rella replied flatly.  
'Can't say I'm complaining that we're-'

An all-too-familiar belly-roar sounded at the top of a small hill to the pair's left, and low and behold, there was a very angry Brute glaring at them balefully.  
Karl slammed his helmet back on and engaged the seals, activating his cloak and drawing a Kassa Locust SMG.

He barely had time to dodge out of the way before the thing had dug its massive pincer into the ground where he'd been standing.

The distinctive _whine-crack!_ of an Arc Pistol discharging told Karl that Rella was firing on the mechanical monstrosity to little effect.

As he was under the cover of a cloak, Karl decided to do some preparation before he committed.  
Dialling his Locust to fire incendiary rounds, Karl started circling around the Brute counter-clock wise. He wasn't certain if the thing could feel the bullets, but hopefully he could get its attention.  
Realising it was a futile effort, as all he'd done was make a small patch of armour glow red-hot Karl switched to his sword and darted in as the Brute reared up.

Before his cloak ran out and the Brute charged at wherever Rella had reappeared, Karl brought his sword across the backs of the Brute's knees in a horizontal slash, severing the servos that had replaced tendons. The Brute immediately collapsed forward and Karl used the opportunity to dance lightly up its back.

The second part of his master plan was to hack through the cables that comprised its neck, but a flailing pincer grabbed him instead, then slammed him into the ground. Dropping his SMG and sword, Karl frantically tried to pry the claw open, to little effect, and in that moment, he realised he was probably going to die, unless either a miracle happened or Rella managed to kill the brute with a well-placed shot.

What he got was a lot less expected.

A deafening roar sounded from above and a huge blue mass drove the Brute into the ground, making it bellow in surprised agony before it died.

It took a lot to shock Karl.

He had undertaken many operations over his nine-year military career,-breaking out of a Batarian death-camp, while not an official operation due to it being the fallout of something else, was a highlight due to the aftermath.  
He'd been responsible for destroying enemy emplacements and had been forced to make a terrible Solomon's choice between his squad and the thousands of people aboard a Reaper slaughter ship they'd been sent to destroy.

In the end, the dropship and the battlegroup they'd been a part of could only hold so many people.

The blood of many was on his hands.

Blood he'd planned to make the Reapers pay for.

However, the iridescent blue dragon standing astride the broken corpse of the Brute that had been on the verge of killing him certainly did shock him.  
_Holy shit…_He thought to himself, attempting to pull his Carnifex, to little effect owing to the massive pincer his lower body was trapped in.

The dragon was a bit more than twice the size as the Brute it had just slain, and the filters of Karl's helmet actually dimmed to protect his eyes from the reflected glare of its scales.

What was more interesting was the saddle strapped to its back and the two people sitting in it:

One was a bearded midget who wasn't looking too pleased at the dragon's sudden dive-bombing of the Brute and the other looked human, though slightly fey, as though an artist had decided to alter his features to be elfish. He was looking over the dragon's shoulder to where Rella had her Arc-Pistol and a Tempest SMG.  
The dragon was eyeing her in turn.

Knowing Rella was only a twitch away from seriously pissing the dragon off and signing her own death warrant, Karl decided to intervene.

'Hey! Can I get a hand here?' He called in exasperation.

The dragon's head whipped around to where Karl was trapped. It twisted down to sniff at him curiously, revealing its two passengers to Rella, who Karl was satisfied to see at the very least lower her pistol and holster the SMG.

'Are you alright?' Asked Elf-boy, much to Karl's surprise. He'd expected to have to calibrate his translator to even attempt at communication. The boy's strange accent aside, he was speaking perfectly legible English.  
'Well, _aside_ from being trapped inside a giant pincer, I'm fine.' Karl replied with feigned patience.

* * *

Eragon bristled at the stranger's condescending tone.

He'd have replied but, unbidden, his gaze turned back to the strange, masked being standing not too far distant. There was something decidedly wrong about it, with its back-jointed legs and three-fingered hands.

'Hey! I can't get out of this by myself you know; give a man a hand already.' Said the man in the dead creature's claw.

_Saphira?_ Eragon asked.

Without a word of reply, Saphira set her claws into the gap in the giant pincer and began prying it open.  
As soon as a gap had appeared, the man wormed his way out, then rolled away, coming up with a sword and a blocky object not dissimilar to the one the masked creature had. Both had evidently been lying in the grass.

'Thank you.' The man said, his tone less offensive now he was free.  
_You're welcome_. Saphira replied graciously, causing the man to stiffen in alarm.

'Surprised?' Eragon enquired. 'You didn't think dragons were dumb beasts did you?'  
'I never really cared much.' The stranger said wearily examining the contraption in his hand. 'Seeings as I always thought they were a myth.'

Eragon blinked in surprise at the man's comment. He'd always considered dragons a myth? Just who was this man and where had he sprung from.

'Begging your pardon stranger, but what, or who is your friend?' Orik asked, before Eragon could question the man further.

'My _name_ is Rella'Venn vas Norroh. And I'm a Quarian.' The masked creature replied defiantly, a light roughly at mouth height on her,-for that voice could only belong to a woman,-mask flashed in time to her speech.

Eragon felt his ears turn red at the realisation. This 'Quarian' evidently didn't have the same standards of modesty as humans. She reminded him of Arya in that regard. He firmly clamped down on his hurt feelings in that direction. Now wasn't the time.

'-Are you even _listening?'_ Groused the stranger in irritation.  
'Sorry, what?' Asked Eragon, realising he'd gotten lost in his own thoughts.  
'I asked you a question: Where the bloody hell are we?' Asked the stranger.  
'Near the western edge of Silverwood Forest and the eastern shore of Lake Tüdosten.' Eragon replied.  
'And where are they?' The stranger asked. 'If you haven't figured it out yet, we are a very, very, _very long way _from home.'  
'Just how far away from home are you?' Eragon asked. Due to the helms both of them were wearing it was impossible to read their expressions, but Eragon saw the man's stance shift slightly.  
'Put it this way: We should've died about five minutes ago. As far as I can tell either someone divided by zero successfully, or this is purgatory. Since the Almighty hasn't come and delivered the mother-of-all beat-downs on my ass for some of the tough calls I've had to make over the past six months, I'm going with the former.'

Eragon blinked. These two had cheated death?

_These two have fought the most terrible sort of war imaginable: A war for their races' very survival against foes as unfathomable as gods, foes that turned their own dead against them._ Saphira commented to Eragon.

'You still haven't answered my question, you know.' The man commented.  
'This land is Alagaësia.' Eragon said.  
'Okay, next question: where would a battle-weary soldier go for a few months of R&R?' The man asked.  
'At present? With war not too far away?' Eragon replied rhetorically.

'Fuck.' The man swore, 'this is not my day; okay, give me the short version.' He said resignedly.  
'Evil, immortal king stole the throne a century ago, destroyed the dragon riders and has ruled since then and the land has gone from prosperous to being chronically unjust wherever his arm is strong. We're going to aid our fellow rebels in the opening battle of what's looking to be a very long war.' Orik replied.

'You've got no idea how senseless that sounds from where I'm standing.' The man replied. 'You're going to have to be more specific regarding 'evil', I've seen shit the past couple of months that'd make your beard curl, dwarf.'

_This talk is a waste of time. Would you care to show us instead?_ Saphira asked the two strangers impatiently.

'What was that?' The creature called Rella asked.  
'The dragon. Apparently it's telepathic like those Leviathan things Shepard found on that ocean world.' The man replied dismissively.

_What…?_ Eragon thought. _Leviathan…Ocean world…what is going on here?_

'Yeah, fine. Take a look; just don't be surprised if you don't comprehend anything in there.' The man said dismissively.

Eragon frowned at how casually the man agreed to the mental probe, then shrugged his confusion aside and touched the man's mind.

Immediately, Eragon knew the man hadn't been insulting him when he'd said he'd be surprised if Eragon could fathom his mind: For one, it was vast and well-disciplined and the abundance of knowledge on weapons Eragon had never even heard the like of told him the man was a soldier. His mind was also filled with rage, sorrow, unrelenting hatred and a single unswerving conviction: _The Reapers, will burn._

Eragon's confusion deepened.

_Maybe because you're lacking context? Take a look at my memories of the last six months, that should fill you in._ The man thought, evidently feeling Eragon's bewilderment, as if he were familiar with a mind link.

Taking the man's advice, Eragon began looking through his memories.  
They weren't pleasant: Desperate battles in the shadows of colossal walking spires that scorched the ground with fire, trying to stem an endless tide of hideously altered undead with the terrible knowledge that no matter how many he and his comrades destroyed, more would come and that in the end, this was just a delaying action.

The memories shifted to a hall of black metal, with streaks of light flashing overhead:

'_Captain, you need to destroy that place now!'_ Someone unseen shouted.  
'_We can hold them, get these people out of here!'_ The man replied furiously as his left arm glowed orange and a fireball arced into a desiccated creature that bore a disturbing resemblance to a human.  
'_Drezani, we've got a wolfpack of destroyers coming up on us, if you don't destroy the _Eater of Corpses _now, you, us and everyone you've managed to evac already are dead.'_ The unseen speaker said.

Eragon felt the moment of rage, self-loathing and grief that coursed through the man as he touched the side of his helmet.

'_Eagles, fall back to the shuttles.'_ He said hoarsely, already backing up and sending more streaks of light towards the oncoming abominations as various voices responded to his order. Shortly, the man,-Drezani,-a group of other people and several scared, filthy people and creatures were inside a small grey room.  
'_We're clear.'_ Another voice said.

Drezani looked up into the faces of another two people and a creature which bore a vague resemblance to a bird.  
Then, he took a small cylinder, flipped a cap off of one end and depressed a red button. A shockwave buffeted the little room and several of the scared, unarmed beings broke down and began crying.

_They'll pay for that._ The thought echoed through Eragon's psyche from the memory. _If it's the last thing I ever do, I will make the Reapers pay for that._

Eragon pulled himself away from Drezani's memories and examined some of the man's knowledge instead.  
He still didn't understand half of what he saw, but he'd found enough to guess that the pair in front of him were from another place and another time or in short, another world entirely. Returning to his own mind, he shared what he'd learned with Saphira and Orik, then turned his attention to the two strangers.

'I guess you're right, a war like this does seem trivial and pointless compared to what you've been fighting. But we need your help. We're hugely outnumbered and-'  
'Maybe I will help; we're you headed?' Drezani asked.  
'The city of Aberon, a long way south of here.' Eragon replied.  
'Not like we've got a better plan…'Rella commented.

Drezani was silent for a while.

'Okay, we'll go to this Aberon with you and from there-' He broke off as a voice Eragon could only describe as metallic sounded from behind them.  
'Drezani Captain, Creator Venn.'

Eragon turned and found himself looking at a creature that looked similar to Rella, only with an equine head with a glowing single eye instead of a mask.

'Meta?' Karl asked in surprise. 'We're not in combat at present, form up.' He ordered, then shifted his attention to the elf-boy. 'Got room for one more?' He asked.

The boy was giving Meta a peculiar look.

'I don't believe we were properly introduced; I'm Captain Karl Drezani, this is Meta,' Karl pointed to the Geth in question,- 'and the Corporal's already told you who she is; so, who're you lot anyway?' Karl asked as he sheathed his sword and maglocked his Locust to his thigh.

'I am Eragon.' Said elf-boy.

'Orik Thrifk's son at your service.' Said the dwarf.

_And I am Saphira, daughter of Vervada._

'A pleasure.' Karl replied briefly. 'You didn't answer my question though; Have you got enough room for everyone or are we going to have to get creative?' He asked.

'We do not require a place to sit, Captain. It would be more efficient if the proto-harvester carried us, provided it doesn't drop us, that is.' Meta said.

The dragon growled at this, causing Meta to reach for their Black Widow.

'Stand down Meta.' Karl ordered. 'That 'proto-harvester' is a dragon. She's sapient, and communicates via telepathy; evidently she can't contact you due to the fact you're a synthetic.' He explained.

Meta shouldered their Black Widow. 'We apologise if we caused offence.' Meta said.

Karl caught Eragon giving Meta a peculiar look.

'Meta isn't a living being. He's a sentient machine and usually speaks in the first person, but he recently became host to the collective intelligences of another platform like him, hence why he's speaking using first person plural.'  
'Right…' Eragon replied, either not understanding what Karl was talking about or not believing him. Not that Karl really cared either way. He was more worried about Rella, who was giving him a very flat look. Figuratively. Her body language said she'd be having words with him later regarding how he'd personified Meta.

'Saphira says she could easily carry Meta; as for you and Rella, I suppose you'll have to strap yourselves on somehow.' Eragon said.  
'We can do that.' Karl said, pulling a rappelling line from his belt, releasing some of it, tying it around himself like a rock-climbing harness and throwing it up to Eragon. 'Tie that off securely and I'll be right.' He said, noting with some satisfaction that Rella had almost finished fashioning a similar harness for herself.

A few minutes later and they were off again, Meta's various weapons being carried by Rella and Karl to minimise the risk of dropping them.

'_What are we even doing here, Drezani?'_ Rella asked over the comm-link.  
'Heading towards a populated area; when we're there, we might be able to hear news of the others; and if we don't, then I suppose we can see about helping out with this little war, pointless as it is.'  
'_Do you really believe that nonsense about the immortal king of bosh'tets?' _Rella asked, displaying a way with words Karl couldn't help but find endearing. He'd worked with Quarians once or twice before, and as a rule they were mechanically minded. Rella was no exception, but she was the first Karl had encountered who had a real talent for sardonic witticism.

'I wasn't too convinced about the Reapers until I found out about the Leviathan of Dis. I'm reserving judgement.' Karl replied neutrally.  
'_We find this Thrifk's son, Orik's claim of an immortal king to be statistically improbable. However, without access to large databases beyond the citadel codex and other publications on your omni-tools, we do not believe we have enough data to make an informed decision. Captain Drezani's policy appears to be the most logical course of action at present.'_ Meta commented.

'_Nobody asked you.'_ Snapped Rella.  
'Cut it out Corporal; we're in this together. I don't expect you to get over three hundred years of exile in a few months, but at least try and be civil.' Karl interjected before Rella decided she wanted to try a bit of target practice.  
'_Yes sir.' _Rella replied formally. Karl figured she was disciplined enough to obey, but he wondered how bad he'd offended her.

**Late? Why yes, this is late, isn't it?**

**I've been busy writing chapter five.**

**It's getting to about the halfway mark, but I'm starting to lose enthusiasm for writing now. What little I'd regained, anyway. Not sure why, but it's probably laziness or focusing too much on my Original piece...**

**I dunno.**

**Now, thanks to to everyone who favourited and followed.**

**Thanks also for reviewing: Raex, edboy4926, Forsaken By All and DaLintyMan. If I missed anyone, feel free to let me know.**

**So, until next time I'll leave you with this tidbit: There will be more Reaper soldiers in the future.**

**Remember to review and please leave something substantial in it.**


End file.
